The irises are gone, and just in time to console me come the evening primroses. Soon my garden will be a burst of yellow, brightening the yard at the little house in the big woods. The primroses always bloom in time for the Fourth of July, a special treat for the celebration of our country’s birthday.
This has been quite the month, quite the year, for irises. They have bloomed with a profusion that gladdens the heart of this iris lover. But now the gardens are down to the last two blossoms. These lovelies will come again next year, I know, but although I cherish all the flowers in my garden, irises are my special darlings, and it always makes me sad to see them go. That is the way it is with flowers, of course, and perhaps that’s why we love these ephemeral beauties so much. They are both permanent and not permanent, coming up year after year—if we are lucky—and only lasting for a short time.
Much spiritual practice, however unintentional, can come from tending a flower garden.
Yesterday, the weather forecast for the afternoon was cloudy in the morning and rainy in the afternoon. However, now that Clif is retired, we have a lot of flexibility in our schedule.
Therefore, “Let’s go biking in the morning before it rains,” I said.
“Good idea,” Clif replied.
We went late morning, and as we were gathering our gear—helmets, gloves, water bottles, we both noted how gray the sky was.
“Doesn’t look like a very good day for pictures,” I observed.
“No, it doesn’t, ” Clif agreed.
“Still, I’m going to bring the camera because you never know.”
Also, our wee wonder of a camera fits nicely in my bike’s front bag, so carrying it is no problem.
As we rode, the sky became even more overcast, but as we passed my friend’s house and gardens, I noticed her peonies were glowing in the dark green foliage.
“On the way back, I want to take pictures,” I called to Clif.
“Right!”
We rode on, and I am happy to report we pushed ourselves to go to the end of Memorial Drive, which meant pedaling up a fairly large hill. Yesterday was the first time this season that we did this, and although it was hard work, we both made it without any problems.
A few years ago, when I was in really good shape and we had a choice of going up a big hill or turning around and heading back, I used to say to Clif, “Let’s go up that hill for the fun of it and then turn around.”
I hope I am saying this again by the end of the summer.
On the way back, which was glorious downhill much of the way, we stopped at my friend’s house to take pictures of her peonies. I wasn’t optimistic, but this is what I got, which reinforced the notion of always, always bring your camera.
My friend, of course, will be getting a card made from this picture. I’ll also make a card to bring to our library, where I have a little stand with my cards, and I donate the profits of the card sales to the library.
When we got home, we had no sooner put away our bikes then it started to rain. We were pretty pleased with ourselves and our good timing.
Best of all, later in the day, there was an opportunity for another picture, this time on my very own front deck.
Another lesson: Always be ready with the camera, even at home.
In Maine May is a month of sublime beauty, but June is not far behind. The leaves on the trees are deep green and full grown, but they still look fresh, and everywhere, everywhere, flowers are bursting into glorious bloom.
On the way to book group last night, I stopped several times to take pictures of flowers and grasses by the side of the road. The light was just right—not too harsh, not too dim—and it was a photographer’s dream. (No matter where I go, I bring my wee wonder of a camera because it is better to have it and not need it rather than need it and not have it.)
This little iris might also qualify as a neglected beauty, lighting up the side of the road with her ethereal purple in a tangle of green.
Then, it was on to the war of the roses. White?
Or pink?
Or really close up?
Never mind! I’ll take them all. Just as I am with food, I am a glutton for flowers.
Finally, I was caught by the more subtle beauty of this grass and the way the setting sun made it glow. Not as flashy as the flowers, I know, but still lovely to look at.
Tonight, Clif and I will be going for a bike ride, and you can bet I’ll have the camera tucked in my bike bag. Because this time of year you never know what beauty you might find by the side of the road.
It is a fact universally acknowledged that gardeners must wage a constant battle against weeds and various invaders that threaten to overwhelm their best beloveds. However, once in a while there comes an uninvited guest that is so welcome, so lovely, and so exactly in the right spot that all a gardener can do is say a silent prayer of thanks to the gardening gods.
So it is with these wild daisies that somehow found their way into my garden in a spot where nothing else really thrived. The daisies—tall, bright, and white—are exactly where they should be—in the middle of the garden. There, I hope, they will stay, and I will do my best to encourage them to thrive and spread.
It’s funny how two people can look at the same thing and come up with two different reactions. When I look at this picture, this flower, this iris, I see Beauty.
Clif, on the other hand, sees “the back-end of a turkey.” Oh, how this stabs my heart. I love irises, and if I had a yard with more sun and better soil, I would have clumps and clumps of them. As it is, I have to be content with a few patches, some of which thrive better than others. In short, irises are my darlings, and nobody likes to hear someone make fun of his or her darlings. Especially when that someone just happens to be a spouse of nearly forty years.
Ah, well. Such are the turbulences that roil the little house in the big woods. Fortunately, they soon pass, and when they do, I am able to laugh at Clif’s foolishness, and mine, too, of course.
Here are some more pictures of what’s going on in the yard at the little house in the big woods. And as far as I can see, there is no back-end of a turkey.
A friend of mine, who has beautiful gardens, has graciously allowed me to take pictures of her flowers whenever I want. As her home is on our bike route, I tuck my wee wonder of a camera in my bike pack and stop quite frequently during spring and summer.
Over the years, I’ve taken many, many pictures of her flowers, so you’d think I’d know every inch of her yard, but you would be wrong. I found this out the other day when she gave me a call.
“I wondered if you had noticed our hawthorn tree,” my friend said. “It’s in bloom right now with the most beautiful red flowers.”
“No,” I replied. “I’ve never really noticed that tree.”
“It’s in the front yard just behind the garden,” she said. “Come on over and take a picture if you want.”
“Will do!” I said. “Thanks so much for calling.”
The next day just happened to be a perfect day for taking pictures of the flowers on the hawthorn tree. It was sunny, but not too sunny on the tree, and there was just enough light to illuminate the flowers but not too much to have them washed out.
“Funny how I never noticed this tree,” I said as I took pictures.
“Well, most of the year it’s just a tree with green leaves. But in the spring, it’s got those red flowers. And this year seems to be a particularly good year for the flowers.”
Indeed it is.
Now, I am a fool for flowers—in my own garden, in other people’s gardens, wild by the side of the road. It doesn’t matter. For environmental reasons, Clif and I stay pretty close to home, and although I never get tired of taking pictures of flowers, each year I can’t help but think that I’m not going to get anything new, that I’ve taken all there is to take in my little world. And each year I’m proven wrong. In a five-mile radius from my home, I always find something new to notice, some new beauty to photograph.
This just goes to show that even an observant person is not going to notice everything that grows around her. Each year will bring some new delight previously unexplored. This is not to slight old friends, such as my purple irises that are nearly in bloom. When those purple beauties open, I’ll be taking picture after picture, just as I do every year.
But it does suggest that we need to keep open eyes and an open mind about things that are near to us, to not take our immediate surrounds for granted. Because you never now what you might find—a flowering hawthorn tree, a bridal wreath in bloom by the lake, or some kind of neglected beauty.
All we have to do is look.
Yesterday, Clif and I went on a bike ride. As we have been, ahem, a little inactive this winter, we only went five miles. (Somehow, riding on the road to nowhere on the exercise bike just doesn’t do it for us.) No matter! It was a glorious five miles, and as June wears on, we will build up our strength. For our birthdays in September, we hope to go on a fifteen-mile trek and then cap it off with fish and chips at a local pub.
For yesterday’s bike ride, we started from Norcross Point, a small but lovely waterfront park in town where residents can launch their boats or come for a picnic or just plain relax and enjoy the view.
We went past the public beach and down pretty Memorial Drive, a great road for bikers, and I came upon these lupines, which are early this year.
Here is a closer look. Always fascinating to see flowers up close, where they are nearly unrecognizable.
We also stopped to take pictures of a friend’s garden, which right now is vivid with pink. Later in the summer, it will be cool blue and yellow. I love how gardens change color with the seasons.
On we went by the lake, and although we were slow, we were steady. The sun was hot, but there was a gentle breeze to help cool us. When we got back to Norcross Point, I noticed a froth of white by the edge of the lake. Naturally, I had to take a picture.
Two women from my book group were sitting nearby. They had brought their lawn chairs and lunches, and were reveling in the fine weather and the beautiful sweep of the lake. “A bit of paradise,” one of them said.
I couldn’t argue.
This afternoon, Clif and I will go on another bike ride. This time I hope to get good pictures of a hawthorn tree that is in glorious bloom in my friend’s yard.
Fingers crossed!
On Sunday, our friends Joel and Alice and Diane came over for a Memorial Day gathering that featured grilled bread, salads, and homemade strawberry ice cream with homemade shortbread. Accordingly, Saturday was a busy day of getting ready. However, I did find time to work a bit in the garden, and I came upon this tiny fellow—a spring peeper? (Eliza, what do you think?)
The little creature, about an inch long, bounced around as though it were on a spring, but I did manage to capture a picture.
Sunday was a little cloudy, but it didn’t rain, and it was warm enough to eat on the patio. We toasted loved ones who had passed as well as service men and woman who had sacrificed themselves for this country.
Clif’s legendary grilled bread was the centerpiece of the meal, and we had salads to go with the bread. I’m always afraid there won’t be enough to eat, but with the huge grilled bread, there was more than enough with the salads that Alice, Diane, and I made. (We, of course, had appetizers beforehand—chips and salsa and cheddar popcorn. ) We all decided that the bread and salad meal was a tradition we should continue. (Thanks, Alice, for providing the dough.)
I had enough presence of mind to snap a picture of the bread and salads, but not enough to get a picture of dessert.
Among other things, we talked about politics—lots to discuss!—and, as is our way—we also talked about movies. Diane made an interesting point. She is mentoring a student at Bowdoin College, and this student and her friends hardly ever go to the movies. They do, however, watch movies. One of the students has a TV, and they regularly get together to have pizza and watch a movie.
Diane reflected as to how our generation was the movie generation. We grew up going to the movies, and it was the thing to do with family and friends. But now, with the changes in technology—the quality of the image on flat screens is pretty darned good—combined with the high price of movie tickets and popcorn, going to the movies is not the regular event it once was. Someday, perhaps, when we baby boomers are gone, the cinemas will close because of lack of business. (I recently read in the New Yorker that the average teenager goes to the movies six times a year, and this matches Diane’s experience with her college students.)
As someone who grew up going to the movies, I must admit that it’s a little sad to think of this. But times change, and with services such as Amazon Prime and Netflix, there are plenty of good shows and movies to watch at home.
And who knows? Perhaps somehow cinemas will manage to hold on.
Finally, today—Memorial Day—is the 105 anniversary of my grandmother’s birthday. How old that makes me feel! Josephine Lena Jacques was born in northern Maine, in North Caribou, in a farmhouse that I expect did not have electricity or running water. French was her first language, although by the time I was born, she was fluent in English. Her mother and father were potato farmers, and they went to town in a horse and wagon. The changes my grandmother saw in her lifetime.
Happy birthday, Mémère. Here is a pansy, one of my favorite flowers, in your honor.
